pain is inevitable while suffering is optional
by doroniasobi
Summary: AU; it's not impossible to feel again; a lost heart can always be found if there's someone to share it with. —Killua
1. rolling in the deep

_**title**:_ pain is inevitable while suffering is optional  
><em><strong>summary<strong>:_ It's not impossible to feel again; a lost heart can always be found if there's someone to share it with.  
><em><strong>pairing<strong>:_ Killua-centric, Gen

* * *

><p><em>don't you think it would be wonderful to get rid of everything and everybody and just go some place where you don't know a soul?<br>~haruki murakami  
><em>

* * *

><p>.<p>

01.

It gets messy this time around. It's not a hard job for Killua, and he should have expected it anyway; all he has to do is keep it quiet and slit once across the throat. Sometimes there is a fighter; this time, Killua has to knee him in the stomach and knock him to the floor before he cuts; he makes it slow and painful, not on purpose, but because he likes watching the fire die in the victim's eyes, likes watching the light for them fade out before it can get anywhere. Blood splatters everywhere and gets on Killua's nose and all over his hands and there are a few drops on his shoes, too. Then he moves his gaze to the man's face before he pushes the body away; the man fights until his very last breath, and Killua's expression hardens; wonders what exactly there is to live for that was important enough to try so hard.

The blood under his feet is slippery and the knife he is holding is warm. It feels disgusting and yet not unfamiliar.

Killua can only afford a simple line of logic; the notion of death doesn't linger on his hands, in his mind, if there is no lingering blood on him by the time he gets home. Sometimes he even forgets, that he's killed, and it weighs as an unimportant conscience. And he's good at forgetting, too, even if killing does happen to be a part of his daily routine, and he manages to convince himself that it simply doesn't happen. Not in the delusional way, of course; Killua really can't afford to be delusional, either. It feels like forming a detachment, or an automatic default button that hits whenever he's killed, whenever he doesn't want it to be wrong. It's only wrong if he wants it to be.

On the way home, Killua washes his hands in the rain and rubs at his nose. He stares at his shoes; they are the kind that absorb whatever liquid that hits. The blood splatters don't disappear no matter how hard he rubs. He frowns. They were a nice pair of shoes, he thinks wistfully, and he slips them off to throw them in someone's trash bin.

Still, Killua prompts. He doesn't understand. He was probably never meant to, but there is nothing stopping him from at least trying to. Sometimes it is only until the very end when they suddenly remember, only seconds before he brings the knife down on them, that they remember to say 'please'. Sometimes Killua hesitates. Sometimes he doesn't.

After all, it is too late then—much too late.

(He gets home then; pushes the 'erase' button in his memory, and returns to being just Killua.)

.

02.

He feels lucky. It is a good thing that no one knows who Killua is, and an even better thing that the government was so disorganized anyway. It is difficult to notice Killua as an assassin. It is a good thing, sometimes, to be invisible to the naked eye. It is a good thing, to be invisible to the public. He leaves the knife on the kitchen table and makes plans to clean it before he goes out the next day. It's bloody and gross, right up to the hilt, so much that he's afraid that if he looks at it for too long, he might remember.

Killua leaves the house to buy lunch, and realizes, suddenly, that he is being watched. He stops in his footsteps and lets the crowd of people surf around him when he tries to detect it. A nagging feeling of uneasiness stabs at his gut, and he carries it with him. The feeling does not leave.

It's not unusual, being watched. Normally the people who tail him are people from different agencies, or people who have witnessed something. Sometimes there are people who want revenge, and when those people attack him, he pulls out his knife and lets them rest with their significant other, hoping that somehow, they'd find peace.

This one is different though; Killua doesn't sense any sign of bloodlust, doesn't sense the air of hatred nor the tingling that told him it was a witness. He senses full intent; they want _him_. It's not malicious intent, like it usually is, but a kind of curious, quirky intent, and he knows it well enough to recognize it. It's not friendly, but it's curious.

He is painfully aware of this, and the person follows him to the convenience store and halfway back, and then the feeling is gone. Killua grips the plastic bag in his right hand and studies his left as he waits for traffic to pass. There is a little bit of dried-but-not-yet-dried blood hiding under his fingernail. Blood is never good.

When he goes home, he takes his knife and cleans it in the sink with soap; it smells of strawberry and watermelon and it is lovely. He watches the blood spiral down the drain and with it, the problems out of his mind.

Things will get better, he tells himself, and washes that little bit of blood under his fingernail away, too, and looks at that finger for what feels like an eternity.

(Blood is never good.)

.

03.

Killua's home is quiet and bare and empty; he's not sure what to put in it, really. The only things that he is actually aware of are maybe the fridge—though obviously he's not very good at using it when things turn green and he forgets—and his brother's room, even though his brother almost never comes home, even though it's got nothing but a cot and a few tools in it. It's not like he really cares about Illumi, really; he was fine without him and will only continue to be fine without him.

But sometimes he waits. Sometimes he opens the door, just a crack, and looks in, half-expecting to see him sitting there, reading a book or napping on the floor or just sitting there, thinking. Illumi has always been a thinker, something that Killua has somewhat inherited but not fully. Sometimes Killua likes to pretend that the room is not as empty and pretends that the cot isn't trapped under layers and layers of dust and lies down, breathes in both the airy particles of dust and the faint smell of vanilla flavoured sadness. Sometimes Killua closes his eyes, too, and the vanilla triggers past memories.

And then sometimes it gets too much and he runs out, his breath shallow and his vision red, and by then, he is only waiting for himself to calm down.

(Then when he does, he's waiting again, curled in a ball next to the door, wondering when his brother will come home, wondering when his loneliness will ever start to fade and it's during these times, when he can smell the scent of vanilla, when he can pretend that he's nothing but a child, that he feels like there is a thumping in his chest., even if he knows that there really isn't and that it's lost and it'll forever be the monotonic, endless, buzzing in the back of his mind.)

.

04.

He's not sure when he'll stop.

Killing has always been first nature, to Killua. Perhaps it will be the day he will finally let himself get caught, or maybe it will be the day he dies, getting accidentally run over by a car, or in some other accident, like getting mugged by a group of burglars. He's not sure, really. One thing he is sure of is that he won't do it voluntary; he won't do it voluntary so that he can settle down and live a peaceful life.

And it's not because he enjoys killing, per se; Killua isn't one of those bloodthirsty killers who do it only for the sake of the thrill and enjoyment, and/or money. He's not a person like that. Killus doesn't kill for the sake of killing; he does it because it's the only thing he's ever known. Truth be told, he's not really sure what peace means; he knows of it, hasn't had experience with it before. Happiness, maybe, but not peacefulness. It's a term that his mind no longer cares about, along with other seemingly useless words that he doesn't bore himself with anymore.

Killua's nights are all spent alone, with the thin humming of a familiar tune ringing in his ears. Sometimes he listens to these and thinks that he can piece together the music, perhaps remember what it was like again. But there are no words, and Killua doesn't know music well enough to know where to start. Sometimes he hears Illumi humming, a deep but comforting feeling of reassurance. (Killua doesn't know what Illumi is to him, really; he could be a friend, could be a fiend, could be many things, but he was never a threat. Maybe that's what keeps Killua still waiting. Still hoping.)

The killing part is the easiest. It's the only part of Killua that has learned to block out entirely, not like the discontent and loneliness that hides in his shadow.

The insomnia is a regularity; sometimes it's a good thing, to keep awake when there is the possibility of being attacked. Needless to say, it is difficult to land a hit when Killua is awake and fully-functioning. But tonight, his eyes droop and his head nods. He pushes his hair out of his face and crouches beside the door, giving into the lulling of stillness and the faint smell of vanilla lingering.

Tonight, he feels safe. Tomorrow, he'll wake up alive.

(He doesn't know which is worse.)

* * *

><p><em>to be continued.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: ...I don't even know, I just wanted to write blood and well really, I was thinking of writing this for Angel Beats! fandom, ffft what was I thinking. I needed to spit something out okay, otherwise I'd have too many ideas in my brain. I'm trying to organize them but this is what my brain threw up today. ...UM. I DON'T KNOW HOW LONG THIS IS GOING TO BE but I have everything sorted out sort of :'D I hope you enjoyed reading, I'm sorry my brain is such a mess, I really don't do multichapters and fft I'm not even sure how long this is going to be, probably not that long :'D**


	2. sinking in the mass

_**part two;**_

_**title**:_ pain is inevitable while suffering is optional  
><em><strong>summary<strong>:_ It's not impossible to feel again; a lost heart can always be found if there's someone to share it with.  
><em><strong>pairing<strong>:_ Killua-centric, Gen

* * *

><p><em>and i know you have an awfully big wound in your stomach, and i wish, dear brother, that i could be God and mend it.<br>but God, i trace your guts and wear them as a beauty mark.  
><em>

* * *

><p>.<p>

05.

He's off for a while after that; he's taken twenty jobs in about a month and usually when he takes another, he starts getting grumpy and brutal, enough to buy the convenience store out of its chocolate products. The one time he did, he was mistaken for a robber and the policeman received a friendly punch in the nose, so Killua vows never to do that again, even if he does like chocolate, and even if someone does need a friendly punch in the wherever.

So he goes to the studio. The studio is a real, actual studio that his brother used to rent, but since he's been away, Killua rents it for him, not only because he has to, but he wants to. At first, it was only because he was beginning to forget what it felt like to be around his brother, beginning to forget what he felt like, beginning to forget all the traces he had left of him and vaguely, the smell of vanilla hanging off his entirety. But sooner or later, it became a place that Killua liked being in himself—a place where no one was looking at him, a place where fond memories sat and stayed for as long as Killua willed them to.

It's his reward, almost. It's because he's still pretty weak, because as far as assassins go, Killua's father doesn't need to take breaks, or ponder about the moral necessities of cold-blooded murder. Killua's mother is no different; she doesn't kill, but also didn't question. And Killua's brother—he is a different mystery altogether.

The studio smells of distinct comfort and feelings of nostalgia; the same as always. Killua unlocks the door and just sits on the floor for a couple of hours, spreading his arms out, relaxing and letting the respire wash over him gently. All of a sudden, Killua stops.

Something is different. It's small and slight; almost too slight to notice, but Killua knows that the difference is there.

A whiff of pine. Along with the oddly indifferent smell of fish. Killua's first thought is to crinkle his nose and to grimace, say 'that's disgusting', because there is pine, and there is fish, but never pine and fish—so really, it _is_ disgusting. But this also means that someone has been in here. Been in the studio. The slight smell of pine and fish under the layer of vanilla that is his brother.

For a minute, Killua thinks about what this might mean. Someone has been in the studio; someone has been in here without his permission; someone has been here looking for something, touching his things. It is not the garbage man; despite his occupation, he is a nice man who smells like miso in the early mornings. And it is not the cleaning lady, who smells like cooked rice, old rice—just plain rice. But someone has been in here; someone has been in this studio, this place that no one but Killua and his brother have the right to access. It is a man, Killua can tell; his senses are sharp and acute enough to understand this. Maybe not a man, maybe a boy, maybe a teen. His senses whirl in a mix of emotions, making it impossible for him to detect what or exactly who it was that entered, but the gender is definitely male.

For a few moments, all he sees is red, as he processes this. He's angry, maybe furious, that there is this intrusion in the very innermost parts of him.

And beyond that—far, far beyond—Killua is afraid, afraid of what this stranger who smells like pine and fish wants with him, wants _from_ him, and of the change he may inevitably bring. And Killua is afraid because he can't deal with change; he's never been taught how, and the stubborn parts of him don't want to start learning anytime soon.

.

06.

Gon tries his best to keep perfectly still, but he's never been good at it. It's still been hours without any sound from Subject 2149 and he's getting a little bit nervous and a little bit twitchy, too. He can almost smell the rage in the room; it's bold and strong and powerful and he knows that if he was to reveal himself now, Subject 2149 would snap his neck as easily as he would a twig. He's dealing with one of the best, he knows, and Gon doesn't know if he can deal with 2149 by himself. He might call for backup, even though backup from anyone else other than Kurapika is useless. (Leorio doesn't really do any work anyway, so he doesn't count, not really.) He remains crouched and motionless and waits for something to happen.

And of course, perhaps slipping onto this person's territory wasn't the best idea for a peaceful approach, but the door was beckoning and Gon's instincts had always been better at acting than his mind anyway. Leorio will laugh at him for this, Gon realizes, and rightfully so—Subject 2149 is very, very aware of there being a second presence in the room, and not for the first time, Gon curses his gut feeling for feeling too fast and sits, completely silent.

"Come out."

Gon nearly jumps out of his skin, his hands moving automatically to cover his mouth. He retains the presence of mind to stay still. He pulls his legs closer to his chest and watches the orb of his fishing rod swing back and forth in the dark, holding his breath the entire time.

"Come out," 2149 says, louder this time and sounding much more sure of himself than he had the first time.

_He can't know,_ Gon skitters in his brain. _He's just bluffing, so don't fall for it. They're always bluffing._

It's been five minutes, and 2149 finally moves from his position. Just a little bit, but enough for Gon to panic and realize that no, 2149 is _not_ bluffing, and he knows that Gon is hiding somewhere in the room. Gon reassures himself with the fact that the room isn't even a very big room, so the odds of Gon not being found are still very, very—

There is another short, sharp move, and Gon bites his lip and widens his eyes because he's realized that now 2149 knows _where_ he's hiding and he will drag him out and possibly kill him if he doesn't show himself first.

Gon takes about five seconds to process this and make a decision.

Then, he realizes, as Subject 2149's got a very, very sharp knife to his throat, that he was about two seconds and a half too late.

.

07.

Gon hasn't been in too many near-death experiences, but this one, he supposes, is probably the most dangerous one yet. Of course, having a knife, cold and sharp and very, very unpleasant, is always dangerous, but this time, the person holding it, is an animal, this time. Gon sees all of them as animals; wolves, bears, lions—and sees, also, in them, a kind of loneliness that they are waiting to be saved from. Many of them kill for monetary gain and pleasure.

This one, Gon can tell, still has a conscience.

Gon exhales all at once, frowns at himself for being so careless, and tries to brace for the knife that may or may not fall. He's been trained to tilt and play dead until it's clear.

Nothing happens.

Gon opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, a hand clamps down to prevent movement and another reaches down to pull his fishing rod out of the back of his pants. The knife is removed from his neck and Gon lets out a small sigh of relief before he's pushed back against the wall again.

The first thing he sees is the nozzle of the gun. Then he sees his eyes—eyes, dark and frightened and filled with soul. Gon makes a whimper and the gun moves closer to his face. His fishing rod is dangling in front of him, but there's nothing to notice, much, outside the gun.

"Why."

2149's voice is not icy cold like 6247's, or malicious-sounding, like 6540's. Instead, 2149's voice is deep and dark, with childish lilts in his voice, like a kind of innocence, hidden, trying to break free. It cuts, sharper than glass and sharper than ice would, into Gon's senses.

"I, um, don't know," Gon says honestly, because he really doesn't. "I was told to take you somewhere. If you wouldn't mind. I mean, uh, whether you mind or not."

"Or else?" The voice grows defensive, but Gon hears it clearly now, because Gon is, in a sense, an animal, too. Gon hears insecurity hinged with anger and laced with hurt.

He pauses. "Wait, I have it written down somewhere." He pulls a small piece of paper out of his pocket and reads the instructions aloud. "_Negotiate peacefully_," he reads. "_Hold at gunpoint if he refuses_." He stares at the nozzle in his face. "I think we're doing it wrong."

2149 blinks. "You were watching me," his voice quiet and unsure.

Gon scratches his head. "I, uh. I was."

"Why." The gun readjusts itself and Gon swallows nervously. In the end, he opts for honesty, like Mito-san has always told him.

"We want you."

This seems to strike something inside 2149. He looks up, into Gon's eyes, and stares hard. Gon wonders if there is something on his face, but he knows that maybe he is looking for fear, maybe hesitation or guilt. And he doesn't seem to find anything.

"You want me to kill for you," 2149 says this slowly, as though he understands, after a few moments of silence.

Gon frowns. "I don't think so," he replies, because he's sure they can kill whoever they want by themselves. Or not; Gon reconsiders this as he thinks about the fact that he could be shot in the head in any second.

"I'll come," 2149 says. He lets go of the gun and the fishing rod, both at once, and Gon catches them both before they fall. Gon crouches there for a minute, and then turns back to the instruction paper.

"Subject 2149. Killua Zoldyck," he reads. He looks back up at 2149, who has already begun walking away. He watches as he stops in his tracks and turns around with an expression that Gon never could have imagined on his face.

"You smell _nasty_," he says, after a while. Gon watches him walk away and doesn't realize he is beaming until his cheeks hurt.

This is when he realizes that Subject—Killua Zoldyck—is very, very special.

* * *

><p><em>to be continued.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Second part! ...have I mentioned that I love Gon and Killua yet? Because I think uh, this should be known to whoever is reading because uh, in my mind they are my adorable little bros who eat too much chocolate and waste money on snacks. :'D But anyway yeah.  
><strong>


	3. delving in monotony

_**part three;**_

_**title**:_ pain is inevitable while suffering is optional  
><em><strong>summary<strong>:_ It's not impossible to feel again; a lost heart can always be found if there's someone to share it with.  
><em><strong>pairing<strong>:_ Killua-centric, Gen

* * *

><p><em> non-violence, which is the quality of the heart, cannot come by an appeal to the brain.<br>~gandhi  
><em>

* * *

><p>.<p>

08.

Killua isn't sure why he's agreed to this meeting, or whatever it is. Everything in him tells him to just shoot him and forget, but he can't do that when he wants Killua, someone or something wants _Killua_, and suddenly, a week later, he finds himself lowering his suspicions (only a bit, only by a bit) and following the other boy (same age as him, almost—somewhere in his teens) out of his studio.

He doesn't trust him—Killua trusts nobody—but the other boy doesn't want to, and won't, hurt him. He's straightforward, without the intent to kill. And beyond that, through subtle aloofness, he meets Killua's gaze, firm and proud, but with a genuine expression of his own. It's not concern, Killua realizes; not curiosity, just emotions with no labels—these are emotions that Killua finds he's been craving without quite understanding them.

The feeling of change overwhelms him, hitting hard and fast, like that of a tidal wave. He wants something to happen, something to change, change _him_. It leaves him confused and baffled, because Killua has never let himself think too deeply about the concept of change very much. Now that he has, though, he isn't sure if he wants to stop.

.

09.

"I'm bringing him in," Gon whispers loudly into the walkie-talkie in his hand. 2149 stands about five meters away from him, hands in his pockets with a very bored expression on his face. You wouldn't think that he was a killer, Gon thinks, before there is a distinct screeching on the other end of the walkie-talkie.

Then the screeching stops and the line is silent for a long, long time.

"Leoriooooo," Gon whines.

Leorio's grin can be heard down the phone. "Since you asked so nicely," he sings.

"Kurapikaaaaaaaaa," Gon tries. There are sounds of struggling, followed by another screech, courtesy of Leorio, and then there is Kurapika's soothing voice.

"Sorry about him, he's been stuck inside all day; he had too much to drink last night and so the association wouldn't let him work. He's been complaining all day. But do bring the subject up, Gon—just ignore Leorio if he's being more of a hassle than he usually is."

Gon laughs and turns the walkie-talkie off; this marks the end of their exchange. Gon shows 2149 into the appropriate room and turns to head out; if Leorio is cranky, Gon can probably nag him into paying for lunch.

"Bye," he waves to 2149, who raises his head and stares back as though he's never had anyone say Goodbye to him before.

"Bye," he says back, soft and unsure. Gon looks at him for a moment more before deciding that he really isn't sure what to make of this.

.

10.

When Gon comes back with Leorio hanging off his shoulder, he finds 2149 sitting in his designated seat, eating a piece of toast.

"Hi," Gon greets, grinning.

2149 doesn't look up until he finishes chewing and swallows.

Leorio frowns. "No greeting? Rude brat. He looks younger than me!"

"Fully-functioning for twelve years," Gon reads aloud from his files.

"You make it sound like he's a robot or something, Gon—you really aren't suited to do this job. You got caught today didn't you?"

"I—"

"We're working together," 2149 says suddenly. "To kill people."

"What?" Gon says, the same time Kurapika narrows hie eyes and says, "We don't kill people."

2149 shrugs and takes another bite. "That's why you boss wants me to do it for you."

Gon frowns.

2149 looks at Gon, long and hard. "I'm Killua."

"I know," Gon says, grinning.

"Killua," Leorio repeats. "Odd name," he muses. He latches onto Killua's shoulders instead; Killua looks surprised, but only slightly. He doesn't shake the older man off (which, Gon has learned, is rather futile anyway, unless you distract him with magazines with women like Kurapika does) and looks, maybe even a little pleased at the contact.

Oh, Gon realizes, at that very moment. He's human—very human; vulnerable to his thoughts and to his emotions, too. Killua—Killua isn't just a number like all the rest.

He has a heart, and perhaps that's why the Boss wanted him.

* * *

><p><em>to be continued.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This would have been up much, much later if it wasn't for Frog-kun. :'D I'm so sorry it's short, he was impatient and everything and I was being my usual lazy self. Oh dear.  
><strong>


	4. inside out

_**part four;**_

_**title**:_ pain is inevitable while suffering is optional  
><em><strong>summary<strong>:_ It's not impossible to feel again; a lost heart can always be found if there's someone to share it with.  
><em><strong>pairing<strong>:_ Killua-centric, Gen

* * *

><p><em>as soon as there is life, there is danger<br>~ralph waldo emerson_

* * *

><p>.<p>

11.

Kurapika doesn't take to Killua as quickly as Gon and Leorio do. "He kills," Kurapika says slowly, eyes narrowing and scrutinizing Killua with large, blue eyes. "He _kills_."

"He's not a 'he'," Gon reminds him, grinning. "He's Killua! Call him Killua!" Kurapika stares at Gon with a perplexed kind of shock, and Killua nods at him a little bit in acknowledgement. Kurapika fixes his gaze on Killua; Killua is scrawny and small and has white hair and black eyes and a person like this, Kurapika says to himself, is mysterious, possibly dangerous, Chairman Netero was just going to assign him to them just like _that_?

"I can't trust you," Kurapika tells Killua. Killua stares back at him, and for a minute Kurapika is drawn into his eyes; into black pearls of despair and of a nonexistent world, of bloodshed and death and loneliness. For a minute, Kurapika looks deep into Killua and finds nothing but a soul and an existence and realizes that he's nothing more than a child searching for a purpose.

"You don't have to trust me," Killua says, shuffling his feet, and his voice bring Kurapika back to his senses. "I just have to kill. You don't have to trust me."

Kurapika stares at Killua for a long time. "I don't trust you," he says quietly. Killua says nothing, but Kurapika continues. "But they do." He looks over to Gon and Leorio, who are arguing about something or other in the other direction. Killua follows his gaze.

"You don't have to trust me," Killua says again, but his tone of voice is forced this time, a hesitant trill in it.

And this time, Kurapika doesn't say anything. He looks back at Gon and Leorio and figures that if the two of them are already brave enough to trust this child, this assassin—this being, whose fingers are coated in death—then it was only a matter of time that Kurapika would learn to trust him anyway.

"You're leading," Kurapika says finally. Killua continues to stare at him, but his eyes are wide now, confused, almost.

"Leading?" he repeats, and cocks his head to the side.

This time, when Kurapika stares at Killua, it's as though the assassin he'd seen in him before had never existed.

.

12.

On the day of the raid, Kurapika is the only one not grinning because Killua has absolutely no plan regarding the issue.

"We just go in and kill him," Killua says, flicking a bug from his sweater. "Because he's bad, right?"

"Very bad," Gon agrees, nodding.

Killua smiles smugly; he's learned to loosen up around Gon. Around all of them, really, but mostly Gon. "Then it's fine," he clarifies, "if Gon thinks he's bad. We'll walk in, kill him, and get out of there. Easy."

Kurapika almost goes purple and Leorio turns blue but neither of them have any chance to say anything because Killua's already dragging Gon out of the room to have him teach him how to fish for birds. Leorio sighs and goes back to his computer. This time, he isn't grinning, and Kurapika can tell that even he knows the seriousness of the situation. Kurapika is torn. Torn between throwing a tantrum or being a mature, reasonable adult.

"Let's just go, Kurapika," Leorio says quietly. "We'll figure it out later."

So Kurapika goes.

.

13.

The raid goes, and it is, undoubtedly, a success by all of the standards in the book.

Everything entirely—except the moral sort.

Kurapika had brought along poison with him, the kind that brought upon and allowed for a nicer, less painful death. Needless to say, they hadn't needed it, in the end.

Gon could only stare at him as it happened—and it wasn't the look of desperation, the look of fear on the victim's face. It hadn't been the wild look in his eyes that caught Gon's attention; it had been _Killua's_.

And it was probably the same for all of them.

Killua probably never notices it himself, the look on his own face when he pulls his knife across the man's throat. But Gon sees a child; a helpless child doing nothing but following instructions. He sees confusion, and then pain. And even then it's too much for him to take in, so Gon looks away. In the bathroom, Kurapika has his trembling hands pressed tightly against the marble of the sink, eyes flashing blue from red. And Leorio—Leorio isn't even smiling anymore.

He doesn't notice their reactions until he's done with the man, leaves him bleeding on the floor and spread out, limbs still attached but in the most gruesome way possible. "What?" Killua asks, and he wipes his hands and drops his knife to the floor. It makes a loud but dull clattering sound on the surface of the wooden tiles, and the four of them stand in silence until it stops.

Killua yawns, stretches, and walks over to the man's desk to pluck his file from one of the drawers. Then he walks over, and hands it to Gon. Gon takes it without a word and watches Killua curiously. Killua is flicking blood off his fingers casually and grimacing at how much of it had gotten on his sleeves. He catches Gon staring at him a little bit later and smirks, tilting his head to the side and indicating to the door.

"Lunch?" he says mildly. Then a chuckle. "You're treating."

Gon opens and closes his mouth. But when nothing comes out, he really, really isn't very surprised.

* * *

><p><em>to be continued.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: ...um. oops? :D to be honest this still would have never been updated if Froggy hadn't nagged me about it again YES I AM A HORRIBLE PERSON DEAL WITH IT please :'D next part should be up soon, because... inspiration strikes. struck? strikes. ...yeah. :D also, sorry for the... still-very-short chapters :'D**


	5. treacherous chaos

_**title**:_ pain is inevitable while suffering is optional  
><em><strong>summary<strong>:_ It's not impossible to feel again; a lost heart can always be found if there's someone to share it with.  
><em><strong>pairing<strong>:_ Killua-centric, Gen

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><p><em>"May the bridges I burn light the way."<em>

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><p>.<p>

14.

"No," Kurapika says, shaking his head and biting his lip. "I refuse."

"Kurapika—"

"No."

"But—"

Kurapika whips around, eyes narrowed. Gon's mouth snaps shut when he sees that Kurapika's eyes are red. Kurapika is being serious. Killua watches the interaction between the two of them, munching on a chocolate bar he had found in Gon's pocket. He doesn't seem to notice the hostility in the air between them.

"He's a killer, Gon," Kurapika hisses. Everyone looks over at Killua, who is already licking his fingers. Leorio watches quietly with his arms crossed. Gon hasn't really noticed it before, but the creases on Leorio's face remind him just how tired they all are. Gon rubs at his own face absently.

"I'm not cold-blooded," Killua says, shrugging. "I just lost my heart."

"You can't lose something you've never had," Leorio says quietly.

"Leorio!" Gon is aghast.

Kurapika shakes his head, sighing. "I can't do this," he says finally. "Not with a murderer. I'm sorry, Gon."

"What, you can't kill?" Killua flexes his hands.

"Not if I don't have to," Kurapika whispers, shooting their chairman a disapproving glance as he walks out of the room. Leorio follows, a moment later. Gon frowns; why can't everyone just get along?

Chairman Netero sighs and shakes his head. "He'll give in," he promises Gon. Then he says to Killua, cocking his head to one side and stroking his beard thoughtfully. "They won't admit it now, the stubborn fool, but the two of them have taken a liking to you."

Killua doesn't say anything. Gon prods at him with his fishing pole.

"I'll teach you how to use it," he offers. Killua looks at him, eyes the fishing pole, and beams.

"Okay!"

Chairman Netero watches the two of them fondly. In the end, he thinks, closing his eyes—in the end, they are just children. In the end, Killua is still a boy. So perhaps Gon will be the one to find his heart for him.

.

15.

Leorio finds Killua and Gon lounging on the sofa in their workroom. They look up when he steps closer, and Leorio sees Killua's eyes narrow.

"You don't trust me," Leorio realizes, frowning.

Killua shrugs.

"You don't," Leorio repeats. It's a question, but it doesn't sound like one. Gon's own eyes widen and his mouth opens but Killua's already raised an arm to stop him. Gon's mouth snaps shut.

"_You_ don't," Killua says. "It doesn't matter either way for me, but you don't. That makes the job harder."

"So that's all it is?" Leorio bites out. "That's what this means to you? I thought we were... I thought we were—"

"Friends? Comrades?" Killua shrugs again. "We might have been. A few days ago, at least."

"Killua!" Gon bursts out, frowning. "You don't mean that! Don't say things you don't mean!"

"But what if he did, Gon?" Leorio whips around, challenging him. "We don't know anything about Killua. All we did was pick him up and collect him so he could kill!"

"He did it because we couldn't," Gon tries to reason.

"I do it because it's my job," Killua puts in. "If you can't trust me, then you can't expect me to expose my vulnerability. I didn't come here to be comrades with you guys. I came here to do what I was made to do. What I was born to do. If you guys don't want to cooperate, then I'll do it myself." He slides off the couch and stretches, yawning and sticking his hands in his pockets. He turns and makes to leave.

"Wait," Leorio calls.

Killua pauses.

"You don't do this for the money, do you?"

Killua blinks, surprised. "Money?"

"You heard me. Money."

Killua thinks about it. "I don't use money unless I need to. A balance is important, too, you know." He lets out a small sigh. "I don't get a lot of money for killing. But you know," he continued, putting a thoughtful hand under his chin, "we can't exist without one another."

It strikes Leorio then, that Killua might understand a whole lot more than anyone has ever given him credit for.

.

16.

Gon finds that the memory of Killua killing fades out quickly when he's faced with Killua in real life. Killua likes chocolate (to an almost scary extent), he talks loudly when he's mocking Gon, and Gon thinks it's unnatural, and even more so when he thinks back to the first time they met. All of Gon's instincts tell him that Killua is dangerous and that he should be avoided—but it's _Killua._

"Gon," Killua says, about a month after their first mission together. "Gon, you smell like a forest. And a little bit like cooking oil."

Gon smiles sadly, even though he's supposed to have gotten over it, and says, "That's my mom's smell. That's all that's left of her."

Killua looks at him for a long time, and Gon is surprised when Killua's fingers are warm and comforting against his shoulder.

"I know," Killua says softly. "I know."

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><p><em>to be continued.<em>

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><p><strong>AN: Wow, how long has it been? Too long, I say. Sorry about that XD The muse just suddenly came back to me a few days ago, and so this happened XD Rather miraculous, if I do say so myself. Look forward to the next chapter! :D**


	6. gravitational pull

_**title**:_ pain is inevitable while suffering is optional  
><em><strong>summary<strong>:_ It's not impossible to feel again; a lost heart can always be found if there's someone to share it with.  
><em><strong>pairing<strong>:_ Killua-centric, Gen

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><p><em>"An increase in light gives an increase in darkness."<em>

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><p>.<p>

17.

Killua knows that they think he's disgusting. It doesn't bother him much at first because well, to each their own—but gradually, he begins to understand that he _doesn't_ understand, and it bothers him and he worries, because he likes Leorio and he likes Kurapika and he likes Chairman Netero (when he's not being so frustratingly cheeky). The one he likes most is still Gon though, and Killua doesn't want Gon to think that he's disgusting, even though he is. Fortunately, Gon doesn't look like he thinks that way; Gon looks at Killua like he's trying to understand him, and Killua doesn't know how, but he wants to let him.

A few months pass and several dead people later, Killua finally thinks he's got it figured out.

"We can't exist without one another," Killua repeats, clenching his wet, blood-stained fingers into a fist. Gon frowns and reaches a hand out to rest on his friend's shoulder.

"But you have a choice," Leorio points out quietly, voice still cold—but Gon can hear the hint of forgiveness that comes with it. "You have a choice, you know? You can stop if you want to."

"I can't," Killua insists, eyes wide and almost fearful. Leorio's own eyes widen, and he shuffles his foot back unconsciously. Killua notices this and lowers his head in what looks like shame. Gon bites his lip, watching the exchange anxiously.

"I can't," Killua says again. "I can't, I don't know, I—"

And he realizes that yes, he _can_ stop, but he doesn't know why he won't.

.

18.

Killua doesn't feel anything anymore when they die. Or maybe he hadn't ever really felt anything in the first place. But apparently he's supposed to, anyway; the words that they exchange during their argument overwhelms him, leaving him annoyed and confused and just a little bit scared, although he'd never admit to it.

"Gon, I know you mean well," Kurapika is saying in a calm voice. "But I cannot deal with this. Don't you see his face when he kills? He doesn't feel anything, Gon!"

Gon blinks. "Killua is special," he says. "And he's on his way to finding that out, anyway."

"I don't understand how you think this is normal."

Gon frowns. "I didn't say I thought it was normal," he says defensively. "I just don't think there's anything to be afraid of. Killua isn't dangerous."

"I think differently," Kurapika counters. His voice is soft but steely. "I want to like him, Gon. I really do. But I can't accept someone like that. I can't accept it."

Gon's eyes are wide now, almost desperate. "But don't you see?" His voice is louder now, and Killua thinks that this is the closest to emotional he's even seen him. "He doesn't know! And it's because he doesn't know and when he does, everything will be different!"

Kurapika's eyes flash red, but only for a moment. He walks briskly out of the room, fists clenched.

Gon appears next to Killua, patting his shoulder and grinning toothily at him.

"You'll find it!" he says, with a certainty no one but Gon has. He pokes Killua in the chest. "You'll find it," he repeats, more quietly. "In there, I mean."

Killua looks down at his own chest, and wonders not for the first time where his heart has gone.

.

19.

Killua no longer counts the number of people he's killed, but Leorio does it for him.

"Seven," he whispers under his breath, looking at Killua's bent over form. It always takes a while for him to recover, whether it is to flick away a drop of blood, or to return to that same, naive mindset.

But Killua stays draped over for much longer than usual. Leorio, still wary, steps closer.

"Killua, you okay?"

Killua swallows thickly. It's a short pain; sharp and heavy, not quite like being stabbed, but it thumps furiously at his mind and shakes at his senses. Killua doesn't know what guilt feels like, even if he's heard Kurapika talk about it before. He's never felt something so keenly before, never felt anything cut through him so cleanly. Not even a knife.

He watches the man die anyway, without much thought. When he looks up, Leorio is standing next to him, a hand half outstretched. The older boy stares at him, trying more to understand than Killua's ever seen. But Killua doesn't see anything but disappointment, and it hurts for him so much that Killua begins to wonder if that's the pain from his heart trying so hard to feel again.

When they get back, Gon notices right away.

"You don't have to do it anymore if you don't want to," Gon says.

Killua looks up slowly. "If I don't kill anymore," he whispers, small and slow, like an infant trying to form its first words, "you won't need me anymore, will you?" The thought of it makes him panic, makes bitter thoughts run through his mind once more. He'll have to go back to being alone all over again. "None of you will need me anymore."

Gon thinks about this for a while and reaches over to place a firm hand on his shoulder.

"I think," he begins, biting his lip. "I think we couldn't be a unit without you, anymore."

Killua leans in, closes his eyes, and breathes.

.

20.

Gon doesn't lie.

And it feels like Killua is one of them, now. Kurapika, still cautious and wary, lightens up enough to let Killua lead sometimes on their missions and learns to look away every time they have to kill. They form a bond this time, both a team and a bond, and they feel more like friends than comrades, even though they are both. It is less grudging, less forced. Both Killua and Gon together are good at easing nerves and Kurapika—he doesn't hold out long before he learns that Killua can be leaned on, too.

Leorio likes coming into work to find Gon snoozing on the couch after late-night pillow fighting with Killua (in which Killua accidentally tears up the pillows with his nails and lets the fluff fly everywhere) and Kurapika deadpanning at them both as Killua hangs over Gon's face with a pen, smiling evilly to himself.

But it's good, Leorio thinks to himself, chuckling. It's good and it's comfortable and it's _them_.

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><p><em>to be continued.<em>

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><p><em><em>**A/N: ...hi there again. :D  
><strong>


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